


Afterlife

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A spoiler we all (sob) saw coming, Forgiveness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Nostalgia, Peace, RIP Theon Greyjoy, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 21:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Post S08E3.This is for all my fellow Theonites, wishing Theon peace in the afterlife.It’s not all that difficult to identify with Theon - who hasn’t felt out of place in the world, tormented for their mistakes, or desperate for a second chance? Not excusing his earlier atrocities, but power can twist good people into something they don’t even recognize. But then they do.Anyway, I’m a forever fan. Hugs for Theon (and Alfie too)!





	Afterlife

His very last feeling was the sensation of a warm liquid pooling in his lungs. It was strangely comforting, knowing this was the end.

The light went out of his view, and there was only darkness. When the heaviness lifted from his chest, Theon realized he could open his eyes. The darkness in front of him was no longer pitch black but murky and swirling.

His arms and legs felt weightless, as if he was floating, suspended in the depths of the sea. He turned his head to where he could see his fingers and toes—all of them back intact. His hands and feet no longer resembled an incomplete, jagged puzzle; his body was whole again.

Theon heard a voice, a soothing sound that he remembered from his early childhood. He noticed the silhouette of a graceful figure approaching him, moving fluidly as tiny bubbles encircled the space between them.

A gentle face appeared before him—his mother, Alannys. She radiated peace and beauty, just the way he remembered her. “My son,” she whispered, recognizing him after all these years. She reached for his hands and kissed them gently.

“Mother,” he murmured, the sound of his voice vibrating around them as he grasped her tiny hands.

She moved to his side, and Theon realized that his father was close by. And his brothers, Rodrik and Maron. He didn’t expect a warm reception from them. They’d never tried to understand him—not like his sister, Yara, whom he would forever revere.

It would be difficult to fathom these Greyjoy men with warmth in their eyes for the youngest Greyjoy, yet there they were, three if the people Theon had spent his youth trying to please and constantly failing. There was something unfamiliar in their expressions. Pride? Respect?

Although they would have considered it a weak gesture, he smiled back at them. Balon nodded in his direction, a nod of approval perhaps. Forgiveness? Or was it acceptance for doing the best that he could, given his circumstances?

It seemed as though Balon was about to speak when Theon felt the grip of two strong hands on his shoulders. He glanced at his mother, her face filled with sadness, but she let go as he was lifted upwards, through the murky water, the light from the surface coming closer.

As his face rose above the water, Theon felt a familiar sensation fill his lungs. He was sucking in the air around him, like a newborn coming into contact with the outside world for the first time.

He blinked, and the hazy sight above him was two sets of eyes—one pair, a brilliant blue, and the other, a medium grey, the color of the bark from the heart tree in the godswood.

“You’re home, brother,” said a youthful, triumphant voice. Theon blinked again and connected the voice to the tear-stained face of Robb Stark, the closest friend he’d ever had, the one he had betrayed for his own glory.

An older, more fatherly voice filled his ears. “Theon…you protected them. Thank you.” It was Ned Stark. _Lord Stark._

“Bran? Is he…dead?

“No. Quite the contrary,” said Robb warmly. “You stood by him, like the time in the forest when the wildlings were going to slit his throat.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Theon protested, a sob growing from within. “ _I_ wasn’t enough.”

Robb shook his head and patted his friend’s shoulder. “You did exactly what you needed to do. Arya had time to slay the Night King. He’s gone. Shattered. And the dead are gone, too.”

Theon drew in a breath of relief but paused, a fear creeping up through his throat. “And Sansa?”

“Alive and well. Go to her.”

“What?”

“She’s waiting for you.” Robb stepped aside, and with another blink of his eyes, Theon was back in the godswood, his eyes drawn to familiar figure, regal and full of grace. Sansa’s brilliant red hair billowed in the wind as flakes of ashes flew through the air. She was standing in front of the very spot where he’d been laying not long ago. Her head was bowed, and a single tear trickled down her cheek. He could suddenly read the thoughts filling her mind.

_Good-bye, Theon. I won’t forget you. I’ll never forget you._

He reached out, his limbs weightless, phantom-like, but his arms encircled her, his cheek resting against hers. He’d visit her, from time to time, until she could join him.

One day. _A long time from now._


End file.
